He was determined to get a car and establish means of survival. To proceed with the existing plan as far as humanly possible. Do what he could before repercussions hit, which they would, in some shape or form. With a car he’d be able to see where Rory had been living, look for any of the messages that Taylor thought might be left behind, or any suggestion of what led up to his death. But acquiring one meant he was going to have to show his face among the local population and discover how badly he’d sacrificed any anonymity.

Kane stepped out.

Georgetown looked more ramshackle in the flat light of dawn. The buildings were weather-worn and flimsier than he’d first noticed. Donkeys shuffled through the streets, rummaging in bins. Kane counted six of them: large, smooth-coated, with sad eyes. He walked back to the car he’d borrowed the previous night and checked it was parked straight, then looked inside for incriminating traces. He opened the passenger door and wiped blood from the inside of the window where the boy’s head had rested, then eased it shut.

The area where the attack took place looked very different in daylight. The barracks building had shops beneath the arches: the Turtle Nest Gift Shop, Glamour Fashion and Beauty, one charity shop selling clothes and ornaments. Some broken glass remained on the ground, with traces in the dirt where someone had raked it to the side with their boot. The black ground had soaked up the blood. Against the ash, the white church spire looked as defiant as a Klan hood. Two palm trees fanned out on either side of the door like brushes used to keep it spotless.

He kept walking. Kept an eye out for indications of the men he’d encountered, but most contractors and soldiers would live on base. This area was more civilian. Some of the homes had fashioned verandas with wicker chairs and vases of fresh flowers. A canary sang. Kane imagined remnants of a colonial routine: morning tea, evening cocktails, quinine nightmares; empty, sweaty ex-pat days, drinking against the creeping knowledge that you were in the wrong place, that your life had taken a very odd turn. The gardens contained old scrap and driftwood arranged in place of growth, with plastic paddling pools and a child’s swing lending some splashes of color.